Semicircles of a Family
by TheWoollyHowl
Summary: Hiccup had done much growing during the past five years, but he isn't the only one to have done so. He's still trying. Still trying to accept that some are growing old, not growing up. Still trying to make up for lost time. Still trying to treasure them in case its too late. A collection of 2 one-shots, each snippets of life in a single-parent family.
1. Chapter 1 - Footsteps

**Hey guys! I'm alive! Sorry for the inactivity. School worrk, along with some stuff on the wikia caught up. But here's a piece I managed to find time to write. It's a 2-part story consisting of 2 one shots, each one's a little scene from Hiccup's life with one of his parents. Inspired by the fact that he has been part of a single-parent family for almost his entire life. These stories will revolve mainly on him remembering that even though he only has half his parents-semicircles of his circle-he should treasure them. Anyways, enjoy! And remember to R &R!**

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Chapter 1: Growing Up

To every boy, his father is the greatest man he has ever seen. Before every young boy turns into a man and enters the ever so challenging society, beating their father has always been a crucial step bringing them closer to manhood. They had just beaten the strongest man they've known in their entire life.

It was a sign that they had grown up.

Hiccup was no different. As the son of Stoick the Vast, he couldn't help but marvel at how powerful his father was. Physically, he was well-muscled and tall and carried himself with dignity and pride. Each stride was wide and commanding. And whenever he spoke, his voice boomed like thunder.-as if it could crush mountains, level forests, tame seas. The young Viking could not help but have all his hopes on being like his father.

During his childhood, he would often challenge his father in a short battle of arm wrestling. To anyone else, the stick-thin ten-year old stood no chance against the buff Viking with biceps the width of the former's waist. But the kid was as thick-headed and stubborn as his father was when he was his age, with big dreams and far-reaching ambitions.

Like crunching a dried leaf in fall, Stoick would hook his hand over Hiccup's and slam it against the table within seconds. The boy would squirm and twist his arms until his red face was contorted with fury and frustration. His competitor, however, stood only as expressionless as usual. It was only when he heaved in a last gasp of air and his arm fell helplessly against the wooden table that Stoick let go, revealing a throbbing palm beneath.

Hiccup's glared at his father rubbing his hand tenderly. The mix between anger, disappointment and longingness flashed across his green eyes when he looked up, expecting Stoick to comfort him.

Unfortunately for him, his father simply snorted in amusement and remarked mockingly, "Perhaps when the time is right, son."

* * *

Hiccup spent most of his time helping out at Gobber's blacksmith shop, hoping to gain a few more pounds by wielding swords and hoisting stone hammers. Gobber would often find him punching a dead tree trunk during his lunch break, and wince pitifully as the young boy returned with bloody knuckles.

When Hiccup was thirteen, he thrust his fists towards the tree trunk forcefully. A splinter penetrated his palm and he recoiled back with a cry. Pressing this wound tightly, he bit back his tears and cried at the tree, cursing in old Norse and kicking its roots. It was only when he looked up that he realised a deep imprint of his knuckles on the tree trunk. With a short whoop of joy, he sprinted towards Gobber's shop, ripped off a piece of cloth and slapped it across his palm before leaving.

"I'm here for a challenge!" Hiccup demanded triumphantly, throwing the doors open. He slammed his hands against the teak table, ignoring the pain that shot up his palm.

Stoick simply stroked his ginger beard with raised brows, before holding his arm out. Smirking, Hiccup slapped his petite hands against his father's and sat down.

Three. Two. One. Hiccup strained his palm against his father, beads of sweat rolled down his forehead. Blood lingered in his mouth and his eyes were squeezed shut. There came the surge of force.

 _One shot, make it count._

A squeal escaped his lips as he pressed his weight against the palms, trying desperately to ignore the pain on this palm and keeping his wrist of snapping backwards. His bottom lip was going to tear under his bite soon. He could feel it.

In that painful second, he seemed to see the interlocked fingers angled down towards his right.

 _Yes. Yes. YES! Love of Odin._

And the next split second, his body was tugged to his left, followed by a loud slam and a sickening crunch. An excruciating pain throbbed through his entire arm. He squirmed away, grasping his left palm tenderly while trying to keep the tears from spilling.

His eyes darted up. There he was, emotionless.

Shock turned into anxiety and Hiccup stood up and yelled at no one or thing in particular. Kicking the table hard, he swore heavily and stomped out the Meade Hall.

Gobber had just entered, only to see a really grumpy Hiccup with rolled up sleeves take rigid strides towards him. Confused, he glanced at his best friend, who still sat upright in his seat. Sensing the tension in the room, the imprint from Hiccup's kick etched with ire on the table base and Stoick's left arm resting on the table top, everything fell into place.

A frown drew across his face. "You couldn't let that kid win once, could you?"

Stoick shook his head. "I could. But would the rest of the world let him win?"

Hiccup hesitated at his spot outside the Hall. Cautiously, he looked over his shoulder.

"You're getting there, son," Stoick assured, though his voice carried no sympathy whatsoever.

* * *

Days stretched into months, and eventually years. Nineteen-year old Hiccup had stopped being so hard up on that incident, but regular playful spars with Astrid and riding dragons had proven to be beneficial.

So he ambled in that day, calm and composed and walked up to his father who was sipping mead. He took a seat.

"Dad? I think I'm ready."

Stoick did not stop drinking, but instead shot him a quizzical look.

Hiccup held out his left arm. "I said, I think I'm finally ready."

Stoick put his cup down and fixed his eyes on the waiting, outstretched palm for a few seconds. Finally, he readied himself and put his against Hiccup's.

Hiccup squeezed his eyes shut. Was he ready? He really couldn't tell. But it felt right. He had gotten all the tricks right. The key was speed. Throw his father's arm off its centre of gravity to knock it off a comfortable pane of balance. Perhaps, that would work.

 _It had to._

Hiccup opened his eyes, staring right into his father's. Silence rang out in his ears, but his heart throbbed loudly from within him. _One shot. Make it count._ One deep breath. One nod.

Three. Two. One.

Hiccup could not care less, shielding his eyes from the view once again, he just wrenched his arm towards him slightly to throw him off balance and pushed down with all his might. His hand was trembling, he could feel it. But he squeezed his father's hand tighter and forced it down.

A loud thud.

Silence.

 _Holy Thor._ He peeled one eyelid open.

 _Odin's Beard._ His eyes looked at the palms rested on the table.

 _He swore on all five gods that this could not be true._

He released his father's hand, mouth still agape. How? He was definitely not stronger than his father. Was it luck? Science? Technique? Magic? His eyes still transfixed on the table. And then on his father, whose proud smile made him smile brighter.

He had grown up.

* * *

Finally, he felt that he could rub it in his father's face. He stretched an arm behind his back and pulled, warming up for the morning run they had both participated in after his victory. He aimed to sprint, show his father that he could beat him in speed too. A grin grew on his face.

"Ready?" Stoick asked, hoisting a sheep onto his broad shoulders with ease.

Hiccup smiled back, heaving up the sheep cumbersomely over his lankier frame. He was born ready.

Three. Two. One. He surged forward with force, pumping his legs furiously. The weight of the sheep pressed down against his back and he sucked in a short, deep breath. Focusing on the rhythmic pounding of his feet, well, foot, he kept his eyes on the front. His father was not in front of him, a triumphant smug smirk formed.

 _But where was he?_

He slowed to a stop. Beneath his heavy breathing, heavy but slow footfalls sounded from behind him. He looked over his shoulder once more.

While he seemed to have no trouble with the heavy sheep on his muscular frame, his breathing was rapid and troubled. His strides seemed to send aches up his joints. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead as he huffed and puffed towards Hiccup. Clearly, he was struggling to keep up with his pace.

 _That was strange. Very strange. He wasn't usually that slow. Or had such a short stamina._ Hiccup looked at the figure with concern. That's when he realised. The greying strands amongst his beard. The wrinkles forming on his face. He wasn't the only one who did some growing up over the past few months.

Finally, he caught up. "Go on," Stoick managed.

Hiccup smiled weakly and started running. But this time, he set his footsteps to a jog alongside his father. Slow, steady but confident. Both of theirs.

He had matured.

* * *

 **And... it's a wrap! For this chapter, at least. Looking forward to writing part 2, though it _may_ come a bit late cause exams . Apologies in advance. But if you like it, remember to favourite and review it! See ya!**


	2. Chapter 2 - Words

**I'm alive, but barely! Back with the second half of Semicircles of a Family. This story focuses on the fragile, yet distant relationship between Hiccup and Valka. One that is hard to restore, easy to fracture, but impossible to break. Hope you enjoy it. Remember to R &R!**

"A toast, for glory!"

The crowd cheered with booming gusto.

"For our dragons!"

Fists pounded the air forcefully.

"For Berk!" Hiccup held his tankard out triumphantly, mead foaming off the brim as he looked down from the podium.

The villagers roared with booming gusto, raising their drinks, along with the atmosphere. Hiccup downed the mead within seconds as the villagers burst into another elated toast.

Dragons roared in unison, letting out small blasts of sparks towards the ceiling of the Meade Hall. Trays of freshly seasoned boar and pickled salmon were brought out and kegs of more mead and ale than Hiccup had ever seen were rolled towards the tables. The music began, the melodious tunes from the talharpa bow and delicate wisps of the air seeping through pan flutes.

It was beautiful.

They were laughing and singing, clapping to the music as dexterous feet waltzed across the stone floors. The dragons were helping themselves to the generous shares of fish. The joyous chatter filled the background of the music, like a steady, rhythmic percussion.

After all, it was a celebration. It was barely a week past the 'Battle for Berk', and the village had already been close to restore. Dragon populations returned to their original figures, the houses were new and sturdy and there was no dent to their trade exports.

Dad would love this, Hiccup thought to himself, somewhat sadly. He had been missing that figure during the party. This one's for you, Dad. He lifted his drink slightly and dipped his head in silent tribute. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

While he still felt that aching pang of pain in his heart, he had long accepted the fact that his father had left. The pain was slowly subsiding, withdrawing back into his body. But he did feel something else, much more recently. Pride.

Not Stoick's of him.

But his of himself.

His eyes scanned the Meade Hall once more, taking in the sights and sounds. But his eyes fell onto the heavy wooden doors to the exit. It creaked ever so slightly, letting in a slit of light which soon thinned into nothingness as the door squeaked shut. That silhouette, the one that slipped out. There was something familiar about the reluctant party-goer.

He normally didn't care about what other people did, but something urged him on.

He nudged his way amongst the crowd, ignoring the fleeting glances from the villagers. "Where yer' goin', Chief? Leaving the party so soon?"

Hiccup didn't stop, just raised his hand up as a dignified warning. Toothless, from the corner of the hall, had too, spotted him. "Not today, bud. I need a little time." Toothless gurgled, somewhat with understanding yet concern as he watched his master walk out the doors.

It was snowing lightly. The streets were empty, for all had made their way to the Meade Hall. The lanky boy made his way midst the delicate floating snowflakes with light but quick steps, leaving a trail of footsteps in his wake over an even fainter trail. Frankly, he didn't know what, or who, he was chasing after. It just felt… right, or simply something he should have done. The snow was light, it was still chilly. He hunched over and pulled his cloak closer to his chest, breathing out a trembled breath.

He saw her under the pine tree standing in the center of the village. Chin on her small knees, head tucked down as she scrunched tighter into her body. Soft sobs shivered through the tranquility. She must have had left the claustrophobic crowds of the Hall in exchange for this quiet little spot, or risk having a full blown panic attack in public. But she was always so strong on the outside, headstrong, stubborn, tenacious… He had always looked up to her. But in her defence, he had took her independence for granted. He never slowed down, or cooked for her. Or told her he loved him, or held her hand. It was too awkward, and he was the chief. And she never minded. Yet, he had never seen her look so… vulnerable, so fragile, so small. Guilt clawed at his heart.

This wasn't right. It was never right.

Because of him.

"Mum?" He kneeled down and gingerly pried a hand off her knee.

She looked up, eyes bloodshot and hair tangled. Tear stains streaked down her pale porcelain face. Tears shimmered in her eyes, reflecting a mixture of… Sadness, fear, anxiety, embarrassment? Heck, he couldn't even tell. She slipped her hands out of his grip and buried her head down deeper into her arms. Hiccup wanted to speak, to comfort her, to hug her, to tell her everything was already.

But he had nothing to say. Nothing to show.

He was… embarrassed? He was taken aback by his own words. True, he was the Chief and was expected to act like every other grown Viking around. He couldn't show feelings. He couldn't display affection. Or count on his parents. It was weakness. And with a mother who suffered from severe phobias of crowds and human interaction, how was the village to accept her, and inevitably, him? The pressure had been immense ever since she returned and he became the Chief. Perhaps, it was why they had been avoiding each other for the past weeks.

Hiccup glanced at he shaking figure. She was stronger than anyone in town, but could snap easier than anyone too. They knew nothing. She deserved more. How much more was he willing to lose, after twenty years wasted?

He had to say something, he thought, ignoring all the expectations weighing on his shoulders. Struggling for a comforting statement, or a single reassuring word.

He didn't know what.

He had to.

He needed to.

He had nothing.

"I'm not the mother you deserve," she croaked, breaking the silence first. Her voice was small and unsure, like a child hiding behind his mother in front of a stranger.

He shooked his head, biting his lip. Tears trickled down his face, as he fought for more words. Words that could debate against her pessimism. Words that lift the mood. Words that were like a warm hand against her back. There was nothing. Nothing at all.

She continued, much to his desperation. "I-I'm sorry," she choked between sobs. "I-I can't do any-"

He wanted to scream at her. To tell her to stop talking like that to herself. Even that would have been better than the painful silence distancing them.

"I-I… think I… should go." Hiccup reached out to help, but she had managed herself up with shaky legs and breath. Head angled down, she took a quick peek at her son, who still hadn't spoken or acted and averted her glance to the floor once more. Disappointment in her eyes, Hiccup caught in that split second, feeling bitter about his lack of initiative. She wrapped her arms around herself and shuffled towards the general direction towards the Haddock household.

Uncertain and fearful, but slowly unclasped his cape and draped it over her shoulders. He heard her breath hitch a little and continued adjusting the cape snugly over her without a word. She looked up at him, shocked, confused and equally unsure.

He looked straight into her eyes. Boldly stroking a finger below her eyes, he wiped the residue of her tears. His fingers rough, but his touch gentle. She flinched slightly. Still ditzy and dazed, she responded with another puzzled expression.

Hiccup slowly picked up her cold hand and interlaced his fingers with hers, giving it a light squeeze. Getting his little hint of love, she gave a squeezed back. On the way home, several Vikings passed them, giving quizzical looks as they judged the hand-holding mother and son. She blushed wildly, looking at the ground once more. But her son kept his head high, shrugging aside their judgements and the gossip that would soon spread. She was his mother. No one could blame him for loving her for everything she had done for him, despite the twenty lost years. And it was those wordless little gestures he found the most powerful, that showed that time meant nothing. Nothing at all, just like the words he could use to describe this bond.

 **And... it's a wrap! Sorry I took so, so, so, long to finish this darn story. Next up, I'll be working on A Musical collection. Stay tuned!**


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